Crooked Road: Saiyuki Drabbles
by Amael21
Summary: A bunch of very random drabbles prompted by a friend with a word generator. These run the gamut from gen to romance, from light to sad to sexual. References to M/M sexuality; language.
1. Chapter 1

_**Stretching**_

Every night it was the same. Gojyo and Hakkai would go to bed, Gojyo flopping on his stomach with the pillow in a stranglehold beneath his head, while Hakkai laid on his back, ramrod straight with hands folded over his abdomen. It made Gojyo nervous, somehow. It wasn't right for a person to sleep like that, not natural.

So, he would lay still and wait. From watching the clock night after night, he figured out that it took anywhere from fifteen to fifty minutes for Hakkai to fall asleep. Though his breathing deepened much sooner, and his posture relaxed, Gojyo knew that Hakkai wasn't truly asleep until _it_ happened.

Eventually, Hakkai would move, stretching hugely across the bed and rolling over to fling one arm over Gojyo's back, sending the signal that Gojyo could sleep, too.

_**Hurting**_

Being linked to another person wasn't all it was cracked up to be. When Goku was hungry, Sanzo got agitated. When Sanzo was ill, Goku became restless and slightly irritable. If one was in trouble, the other became a tightly controlled basket case until the danger had passed. In truth is was disruptive and annoying, if somewhat useful.

All of these things were evident, though no one ever really spoke of them. It was simply something that everyone accepted as fact about the monk and the monkey, no matter how it might affect the group. It was a private source of amusement for Gojyo and Hakkai, as they watched the obvious attraction growing between the two. It was often quite funny.

But when the rain came, it wasn't funny or sweet or even frustrating. It was nothing less than heartbreaking to watch Sanzo and Goku, each mirroring the other's pain to fathomless depths under the grey light of an overcast sky.

_**Salvation**_

None of them could be quite certain anymore, how or when it had begun between them, but it no longer mattered. They were afloat together in a dangerous sea, and the sharks were circling. There had never been any discussion, and no question existed of each person's place within the whole. It was a pure and equal thing, born of love and need and mutual desire. Though the future might hold difficulty, getting to that future was uncertain at best.

So, Yaone and Dokugakuji would leave the lonely recesses of their own quarters in the night, meeting at the door to the prince's chambers. Kougaiji welcomed them with open arms, his heart filled with gratitude that he should be lucky enough to have them both. This was the one thing in which they could all truly believe, and they clung to it.

Perhaps, in their world of shadows, pain and betrayal, they could somehow manage to save each other.

_**Gold**_

Tenpou and Kenren had tried to be discreet, though that wasn't something that came naturally to either of them. Thus, it wasn't long before the whole of Tenkai was well aware of the illicit affair raging between the Marshal and the General. It was the point of gossip for many weeks, graduating to the butt of jokes for many months, before finally settling into one of those things that 'everyone knows'.

Still, the two refused to admit to anything, never engaged in anything untoward in public, and generally pretended that they had no idea that people knew about them. It was a good arrangement, to their minds. This way they could bang each other senseless, and eventually it would be all but forgotten. They didn't even discuss it with each other, just naturally falling into an unspoken agreement regarding their affair.

This turned out to be a far better thing than either of them could have guessed, as revelations from either of the occasional dream or stray thought of gold bands on third fingers would have sent them both running for the hills.

_**Intercourse**_

"It's a very strange word," Ukoku mused, tangling his fingers into long blond hair.

"Mm," Koumyou agreed, dipping his head to take a peaked nipple into his mouth.

Ukoku hissed at the gentle pull on his flesh. "Very...clinical."

Koumyou released Ukoku, looking up at him with an enigmatic smile. "Would you prefer _making love_?" he teased.

"Hmm, let's see..." Ukoku considered, using long fingers to tilt Koumyou's face up for a languorous kiss, "No, I think that term quite misses the point."

"Oh? What is the point then? Recreation, perhaps?"

"Recreation? I think not."

"Well, my dear Ukoku, you have me stumped," Koumyou replied with a sigh.

"You're being coy," Ukoku murmured, moaning his appreciation as Koumyou caught his lips again.

"Ah, would you like me to be vulgar, then?" he breathed against Ukoku's lips.

"Yes, please," Ukoku whispered back, his stomach tightening pleasantly at the thought.

"All right, then," Koumyou said, sliding down Ukoku's body with a slightly wolfish grin.

"Damn you, Koumyou," Ukoku groaned as his lover's mouth enveloped his sex, "You _know_ that's not what I meant."

"Mm-hmm," Koumyou hummed, chuckling a tiny bit as Ukoku lost his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: This set of shorts (and one poem) was prompted by pairing and songs, randomly chosen by number. The name of the song and the artist are noted either as titles, or with them._

* * *

**Sure Don't Feel Like Love**** by Paul Simon (39)**

It was, Sanzo reasoned, perfectly natural for some amount of affection - or at least, reduction in dislike - to arise after years spent in someone's company. That was a fact of human nature, regardless of his own lack of desire to experience it. Besides, the monkey was _insidious_. No one could be expected to look into those huge golden eyes, day after day, and still hate the little twerp.

That was all well and good. All he needed to do was keep pretending. It didn't matter if they believed him; the pretence was an end in itself. Lately, though…lately there had been something else. Something bigger, stronger and deeper.

It felt like a threat, to every stubbornly held belief in his self-contained little world of pain and regret. It sure didn't feel like _love_.

Which, in the end, was what made him absolutely certain that it _was._

* * *

**Stop and Say You Love Me ****by Evans Blue (Gyokumen/Hwan)**

It had all become so familiar, yet each time the feelings struck her down again. The scent of perfumed powder mingled with the deeper tang of sweat-damp skin, pulling the past through the present. This night, those before, those yet to come - Hwan loved and hated them all, the musk-sweet smell and taste of Lady Gyokumen her only consolation.

Silken strands of hair trailed sensuously through her fingers, seeming to slither between and tangle as if to hold her there. Silken skin met her lips again and again in the rhythm of her adoration. Hwan opened her eyes wide in the darkness, lest a moment of her mistress's ecstasy slip past, unseen. These moments were to be treasured; the sublime pearl shine of lips parted in a gasp of pleasure was far too beautiful to be neglected. Yet, all too often, such things were allowed to pass without her. It was a situation that Hwan could never quite forgive.

The hardened flesh of a nipple beneath he tongue, the perfect slide of skin against her own, the lush, moist heat under her fingers were both the disease and the cure for her heart. To be allowed the touch and denied the soul was a pain so perfect that it burned like ice. The lights were always off, and Hwan hated the darkness that she used so well.

In darkness, only bodies matter and tears don't glitter without light.

* * *

**Kanzeon Bosatsu**** from Saiyuki OST 1, Instrumental (Kenren/Hakkai)**

**Inescapable**

_This has happened before._

There are arms around him, strong and gentle. The brush of soft hair against his jaw and the possessive bite of teeth against his throat send shivers racing through his body. This is wrong, the wrong body holding him. A heady, somehow familiar scent pulls at his memory, reinforced by the creak of leather as they move.

_This never happened._

His body responds, arching instinctively, arduously into the touch of the other. Pinpricks of sensation ripple through his chest as flesh puckers, the light brush of his clothing a suddenly sweet torture. His hand drifts up to comb through short hair, black in the corner of his eye. Then that scent again, warm, deep, i_male_/i.

_This has always happened._

He's not sure how or when, but there is a hand around his sex, hot and sweet against almost painfully hard flesh. It comes suddenly, forcefully, the need to touch, kiss, i_have_/i, but the one who has set him adrift in this sea of desire will not allow it. Muscles bunch, holding him fast and secure. All he can do is to gasp at the touch, and it's too much, now, too much. The gentle/rough stroke takes him over, pulling his consciousness to that single point, burning.

_Let go._

Then he is melting into that warm embrace, moaning into the darkness as he loses himself, without guilt. So good, so wrong, so right and so forbidden, he looks deep into eyes that are sharp and blue (red, blood red) and _known_.

Hakkai wakes, drenched in sweat and..._oh, my_.

A deep laugh rings through a quiet atrium.

"Jiroushin, darling, bring me some sake and snacks."

"Of course, Merciful Goddess."

"The next few days are going to be very interesting for our dearly-missed Marshal and his General."

* * *

**Speed Master**** by Gackt (Youkai!Hakkai/Seiten Taisei 89)**

Four travel the road together,  
Four journey side by side.  
Four is the number of tangled fate-  
But two is the number in our hearts.

Just you and I alone in the darkness,  
Completing circle after circle;  
Baring the one thing that only we share-  
The savage wonder of those inside.

Your face in moonlight is haunting;  
Your skin, a taste of sin unrepentant.  
Careful now with sharpened flesh-  
My ghosts are hungry tonight.

You and I are creatures melting  
Slowly losing the forms that bind us  
Stripping away the masks of concealment-  
Falling each, by the hand of the other.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Dinner**_

Hakkai couldn't trace it down to the day it had begun, but he knew it was around a seven or eight months after he started living with Gojyo. One day, everything was completely normal and the next, he started having these hallucinations.

_Not quite so long before you take it out of the pan. It's better a little more rare._

They didn't come every day, or anywhere near enough to be of real concern (Hakkai was nothing if not practical, and he knew that certain parts of his psyche were...less than whole), but it was often enough to become a Fact. In Hakkai's experience Facts tended to be unpleasant in one way or another; though his black-haired, blue-eyed 'assistant' (Hakkai had no idea how he knew these details, as he'd never actually _seen_ him) didn't seem to be a threat, he was vigilant, all the same.

_More soy sauce. It should be a bit more salty than sweet._

Sometimes, these visits were nothing more than the ghost of a whisper in his mind. Other times, Hakkai could have sworn that he could feel the heat of the man's breath on his neck. It was disturbingly familiar, that sensation. Though he generally detested interference in his tasks, Hakkai followed the suggestions more often than not. In time, he became accustomed to it, and hardly gave it a thought, except...

"Man, Hakkai, this sukiyaki is awesome! The _perfect_ amount of soy sauce."

"I'm glad you like it, Gojyo"

Except, somehow, it _was_ a threat.

* * *

_**Handbook**_

Nii smirked to himself as he crushed out his cigarette, picking up the folders and the videotape from his desk. He sauntered into the next room, Bunny tucked snugly under one arm, and beamed smugly at his guests. The tension in the room was thick enough to chew, which only served to amuse him. No matter how many times he got them together, they would always be at each other's throats. It made things just that much more fun, in Nii's (admittedly unique) opinion.

He slipped the tape into the VCR across the room, ensured that everything was ready (as much as he enjoyed their _company_, their combined technological IQ wouldn't give Bunny a run for his money), and turned to face the two young men who waited. His habitual smirk must have widened, giving him away somewhat, because both of the pretty faces before him suddenly looked wary. He wondered, briefly, what would be the result of letting them know how that affected him. It would either lead to abject obedience or wholesale mutiny, he surmised. Neither option worked for him, the one being too easy and the other too big a pain in the ass.

Nii strode past his playmates, tossing each a folder. "Read them, then watch the tape boys. There will be a test." Leaving his office door open, he settled into his chair, propping his feet on his desk and waiting for the reaction.

His little blond pupil was the first to flip his folder open, his eyes widening. The other followed suit, mouth forming a little 'o' of surprise. Nii smiled to himself. He'd predicted correctly.

It seemed that the angel had a little more of the devil in him, after all.

_**The Mother of Invention**_

* * *

It wasn't the first time, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. Neckties were removed and tossed aside, buttons popped through holes - one just _off _- and labcoats dropped to the ground. Glasses...glasses remained, because hedonism has certain requirements.

The spaces between were tolerable, even pleasant, but when this came back around, it was a fire in the marrow. Breath caught, quickened at a touch, a word, a look from eyes remarkably similar, yet eons apart. Still, they agreed, there was nothing to be done for it. Good conversation was so very difficult to come by and, for them, it was a part of the dance. No point in denials, in wasting time with pretences while time wound on around them. They would never meet, after all.

"You know," a shifting of weight and a groan for contact, "time machines weren't built for this purpose."

Black lashes against pale cheeks, the sharp hiss of pleasure/pain and a wolfish grin, "Bullshit. This is _exactly_ what I built it for."

* * *

_**Bothersome**_

It didn't matter where they were, or what was happening. They could be fighting the usual ragged demon hordes, eating dinner or sleeping...nothing ever changed it. When they played cards, it was there. When they spent aching days in the jeep, it remained. Years later, it would still exist, that quiet thing that they never talked about. It bound and connected, always comforting in its familiarity. Sometimes, when they were apart, it would stretch and grow thin, like taffy pulled too far.

Once, he had felt crowded and intruded upon, but now the memory of 'before' had faded to insubstantiality. Every morning when he woke up, during every day on the road, every night in his dreams, there was the pulsing, unmistakeable presence in his mind. And that, Sanzo decided was all right, and more. It was _right_.

* * *

_**Told You So**_

Hakkai collapsed onto the bed, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. His breath came in ragged gasps through lips stretched into am almost painful grin. Every muscle in his body was tingling, exhausted. The sheet below him was crumpled, having slipped off the corners of the mattress, and the pillows had disappeared entirely. He moved his legs, tugging to disentangle them from Gojyo's, and chuckling at his own ineffectual efforts.

After a few moments, he slipped free and the movement of the bed beneath him jiggled him a little as Gojyo turned himself around. Settling in behind Hakkai, he leaned over, reaching out to the night table for the book that lay open on top of it. He held it up and they both looked at the picture there.

Gojyo nuzzled into Hakkai's neck, saying in a low, satisfied voice, "See? I _told_ you it would work."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** This fanwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by Minekura Kazuya. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. No profit made.

* * *

_**Clarity**_

Early autumn sunsets have a way of softening the edges of everything - particularly if there are none. Red-orange light coloured the motions of careful, pale hands as they tamped tobacco down in preparation for a moment of peace.

Ukoku watched with bemusement and not a little relief. He'd been on this recent journey for some time, and the familiar comfort of Koumyou's accustomed routine was salve to his abraded sensibilities. It seemed that no matter how far he traveled (was that to or from, he wondered), there was always this to call him back. A tiny smirk curled Ukoku's lip as these thoughts returned, circling back on themselves as they had been for so many years, now. For all that Ukoku had ever known or discovered, this one thing still eluded him. He expected (hoped?) that it always would.

The tip of the pipe slipped between well-known lips, and Ukoku struck a match, shielding the delicate flame as he raised it in offering. Koumyou's eyes - warm with flecks of brown in the slanting light - met Ukoku's and a hand cupped around his to share the sheltering task.

Then he smiled like early autumn sunset.

* * *

_**Beautiful Disaster**_

Though neither of them was precisely overburdened with close friends, each of them did have a small circle of acquaintances who watched over them. It was widely understood that though this oversight was necessary, it would be less than entirely appreciated, should it be discovered. So, when the two of them collided, there wasn't much that could have been done from either end to keep them apart.

Tenpou (he insisted that even his students call him by his given name - the old joke being that he couldn't remember his own family name) had never much been one for pesky things like fashion, punctuality, or reality. He was a whirlwind of things askew and fluttering, a pool of oddness and brilliance that no one dared to deny. In all things, Tenpou was electric, eclectic, eccentric and academically voracious. What he was not, was organised, focused, or remotely interested in other people beyond their effect upon his environment.

Gojyo was precisely three-quarters of an inch from hoodlum. He slumped and slouched, drank to excess and made his living in generally unsavoury (if not quite illegal) ways. That red head didn't hide untapped depths of intelligence and wit, nor did his knack for reading people lead him to deep thoughts or artistic endeavours. Messy, disorganised, negatively talented with food and a general layabout, the only thing he took seriously was swindling other people into giving him their money.

Those who watched them all shook their heads when a whim to learn to play poker took Tenpou and he came away with a newfound love of statistics...and Gojyo. They laughed nervously when the pair began living together, unanimously deciding to invite them out, rather than ever attempt a visit to their home. Images of papers on the verge of avalanche, overfilled ashtrays and sinks full of unwashed dishes kept them all true to their decision. And they waited, those people who cared for them, for it to fall apart. It was, they agreed, a disaster in the making.

Thirty-seven years later, Tenpou stood with a blank expression as Gojyo's funeral rites were read. He performed his duties, nodding and shaking hands through the day, and _Oh, how wonderful that they had found each other_ ringing in his ears, but his expression never changed. When he slipped away, it took a full hour for anyone to notice his absence. Once, Tenpou would have smiled at that, but not now. Not ever again.

It was fortunate that Tenpou was missed at work; his body was discovered quickly, and he was laid to rest beside Gojyo. The turnout for Tenpou was smaller, since only those who had been watching over them felt a need to attend. They cried genuine tears of loss and joy, talking amongst themselves of the privilege of having been allowed to watch the most beautiful disaster that ever had been.

* * *

_**Important Day**_

Gojyo woke to the warmth of the late morning sun on his skin, shining in through the crack between the curtains. He yawned, stretching his neck with a satisfying snap. He loved mornings like this. The comfort of his own bed, no hangover...and the tantalizing smell of breakfast meandering in from the kitchen. Gods, it just didn't get any better than this.

He grinned hugely as he rose, grabbing his last clean pair of pants and pulling them on. A cigarette, a cup of coffee...and something else that niggled at the back of his mind. There was something important about today. Gojyo bent to scoop up his smoke pack as he passed the coffee table, a slight frown creasing his brow. Damn it, he'd been waiting for today for some reason, now what the hell was it? He shook a cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips. Stepping into the kitchen, he looked around for Hakkai.

Hakkai wasn't there. What the fuck...? Gojyo flicked his lighter to life and cupped a hand around the flame as he touched to the end of his smoke. It was too early for Hakkai to have gone to the market, and besides, there was still rice cooking for breakfast. Scratching his head, Gojyo went to the cupboard and poured himself a cup of coffee. Hakkai hadn't gone far, obviously.

Turning to lean against the counter, he took a drag of his smoke, and then a sip of his coffee. Now, what the fuck was up with today? Hakkai's birthday wasn't for months, Goku's had just gone by (not that he'd have been _waiting _for that, in any case). It wasn't the 'anniversary' that Gojyo had celebrated alone for the past two years...and that brought him to the end of the things that he would have looked forward to enough that it would be bugging him like this.

Gojyo padded to the table and was just sliding into a chair when Hakkai opened the door. He stepped inside, carrying an empty laundry basket, and Gojyo remembered. It was spring. It had been unseasonably warm for the past several days, and it was _laundry day._

Every possible plan for the day was unceremoniously dumped, in favour of staying home to watch Hakkai clean the house in shorts and one of Gojyo's sleeveless shirts. _Oh, yeah.

* * *

_

_**Comfortable Silence**_

It was quiet on the walk, most of the inhabitants of the temple winding down the day's activities and readying themselves for bed. The sun was sinking behind the hills, leaving the evening shadows to crawl over the ground and beneath the buildings. Colours mellowed and blended like chalk drawings in the rain and even the sounds seemed to muffle themselves to suit the image of evening.

Ribbons of tobacco smoke wound their way into the cool air, safe beneath the eaves, but pulled gently to threads as the breeze touched them. A bottle of hot sake sat on the boards between them, _ochoko_ like twin pools, reflecting them back to themselves. Leaves rustled and birds sang their evening songs of joy and loss to enhance the surrounding silence.

Side by side, the night and the moonlight waited for the coming of the time that belonged to them, equally and alone.

* * *

_**Breakable**_

Most of the time, everything was fine. Hakkai smiled and puttered about, cleaning up and making jokes at Gojyo's expense, which was just fine by Gojyo. He liked Hakkai like that, even if he didn't even understand the majority of the jibes aimed at him. There was always an edge to the guy, but that was understandable, given what he'd been through. He liked the edge, too. He understood the edge.

What scared him were the times when Hakkai got quiet, and didn't bother to make fun of Gojyo's sloppiness or his tendency to lose to Hakkai at cards, or his utter hopelessness in the kitchen. Those times, that edge turned inside out, and Hakkai would touch Gojyo like he was made of porcelain. For a long time, Gojyo didn't know what to do when Hakkai got like that. He still hated it, but he came to understand it.

Now, when it happened, Gojyo swallowed his fear and just let Hakkai's hands roam his body too lightly, let his kisses be too gentle and his motions be too soft for Gojyo's preferences. Because now he knew that when he treated Gojyo like glass, it was to keep Hakkai from shattering.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** This fanwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by Minekura Kazuya. No copyright infringement is intended or implied. No profit made.

_**A/N: **These were written for a meme, but I liked them, so I thought I would post them here, as well.

* * *

_**5 Reasons**

_**...Why Gojyo isn't allowed to drive**_

_**1: Subordination**_

Years ago, when Hakuryuu had first met Cho Hakkai, there had been a strange peiod of adjustment. Hakuryuu had demonstrated his abilities, and Hakkai had fumbled his way to an understanding of what those abilities meant. In the end, they had settled into a comfortable situation with which they were both quite happy. Hakkai treated the little dragon with care and respect, which earned him a dogged loyalty and willingness to do almost anything that was requested, in turn.

_Almost_, Hakuryuu noted, did not mean _absolutely_.

The third time the ikkou and their assorted belongings wound up on the ground while Hakuryuu flapped serenely above them, Hakkai got the hint.

"Gojyo," Hakkai said gently, laying his hand on Gojyo's shoulder, "Perhaps we should just give in for now? I'll have a talk with Hakuryuu later."

_Almost_ did not mean that he would allow Hakkai's obviously inferior mate the privilege of driving.

_**2: Comfort**_

There had been times when, for one reason or another, Hakkai was unable to drive. Since Sanzo was likely to get them all killed, it was usually Gojyo who took over at such times. This was annoyance enough, certainly, but Hakuryuu could manage to swallow that from time to time and when absolutely necessary.

What really bothered was the complete rearrangement of seating. Since Hakkai simply refused the backseat and Sanzo wouldn't sit behind Gojyo, every one of them sat somewhere different.

Sanzo's bony ass was supposed to bruise Hakuryuu's left shoulder, not his haunch.

_**3. Navigation**_

Gojyo had an amazing capacity to find towns and villages, even when there were none on the planned route. Goku openly admitted to thinking that Gojyo was awesome in this regard. Hakkai and Sanzo chided or complained, as their natures dictated, about the meandering and the extra time it was going to take to reach their destination.

Late at night, when everyone laid their heads on soft pillows with the promise of a good breakfast in the morning, Gojyo was the only one not secretly thankful that he had been behind the wheel that day.

_**4. Empathy**_

Gojyo, everyone would have agreed (secretly, in Sanzo's case), had an uncanny sense of Hakkai.

Hakkai had a finely tuned sense of Hakuryuu. He was batshit insane behind the wheel occasionally, but only when the little dragon was capable of handling it. He felt that it kept the rest of the ikkou on their toes, and that it was a good thing for Hakuryuu to get a little strenuous exercise from time to time. This is what he told everyone, anyway.

When Hakkai was unable to drive (and assuming that they could outwit or incapacitate Sanzo well enough), Gojyo would 'take over' for Hakkai.

Third-hand intentions rarely translate well, though at least they usually had a roof over their heads while they all recovered.

_**5. Sanzo**_

As if the monk wasn't bitchy enough the rest of the time, being forced to share the back seat with the ball of enthusiasm that was Goku made him extra fun to be around. Hakkai had once been forced to confiscate Sanzo's harisen, for fear that both Gojyo and Goku would bleed out from paper cuts to the head.

* * *

_**...Why Hakkai is a damn cock-tease**_

_**1. Massage**_

"How are you feeling now, Gojyo?" Hakkai asked, his fingers moving with practiced ease over Gojyo's tense, bruised back. Gojyo replied with a deep, appreciative groan. Hakkai laughed, "That's good." One more run down Gojyo's spine, and then knuckles pressed hard into a sensitive spot, and Gojyo's eyes flew wide open. Hakkai picked himself up from his perch on Gojyo's hips. "I suppose I should go tend to supper, then."

"I'll get you for that," Gojyo growled, shifting his hips to accommodate his sudden and very insistent erection.

Hakkai opened the door to their room and threw a wicked smile over his shoulder. "Naturally," he said sweetly, and closed the door behind him.

_**2. Psychological Warfare**_

Hakkai, Gojyo decided, was entirely too fucking intelligent. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out how the bastard had managed to pull this off.

There was simply no fucking reason why the word _yakitori_ should give Gojyo a hard-on, damn it.

_**3. Dubious Expediency**_

Hakkai pointed out that if Gojyo hadn't thrown what amounted to a tantrum over never having any responsibility, then Gojyo would not have been carrying the money. Gojyo grudgingly agreed to this, but he stubbornly refused to budge on the fact that Hakkai didn't _have_ to reach into Gojyo's pocket to retrieve it.

_**4. Complementary Motion**_

After a couple of years of living together, Hakkai had learned to move around Gojyo. This much, Gojyo got. It made sense, and it worked both ways. What he _didn't_ get was how Hakkai would occasionally do without even asking him to move. What drove him absolutely fucking nuts was the way he did this, pressing and brushing against Gojyo on his way to get this or grab that. What made him positively batshit fucking _insane_ was the fact that Hakkai reserved this behaviour for whenever he'd invited Sanzo and Goku over for supper.

_**5. Cooking**_

It happened so gradually that Gojyo hadn't even noticed. Over the time they spent together Hakkai had managed to turn a joke or a pun, here and there, using food or cooking terms. Gojyo tended to remember them, so that he could turn them back on Hakkai now and then. It was kind of fun...until the day that Gojyo realised that the sum total of this joking around was that now he couldn't look at Hakkai reading a cookbook without wanting to fuck him stupid.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Untangling**_

There were a lot of times when the kid was a handful, a brat, a burden or otherwise just annoying, but Ukoku wasn't precisely the type to put up with such things if there were no rewards. True, not all of them were immediately visible, or ever tangible in nature - not all of them had to be, and some were actually better kept just between the two of them.

The boy was bright, there was no doubt about that, though his common-sense and capacity for everyday things often left something to be desired. Still, he mastered complex theories and incantations in short order and what he learned, _stuck_. When those times came, Ukoku favoured the kid with mostly genuine smiles and affectionate ruffling of his hair. Yes, there were rewards. The boy might be a fool in many ways, but he would be powerful, and he devoted himself to Ukoku with a tenacity that was strangely satisfying.

Naturally, the pretty child grew into an equally comely young man and with a mentor like Ukoku, it was only a matter of time before he began stretching his wings on all fronts. His devotion became entwined with his nascent sexuality, and it wasn't long before he'd found his way into Ukoku's bed. That had brought a whole new world of complication and need to be careful, but it soothed Ukoku's wounds in many ways and so he allowed it to continue.

Indeed, sometimes on mornings like this one, Ukoku would quietly extract himself from the untidy tangle of the kid's limbs with care and even something like tenderness. If he was certain the boy was still sleeping, he'd even been known to lean down to place a gentle kiss against soft hair before wandering off to the shower.

* * *

_**Taunting**_

From the first time he'd looked down into those huge grey eyes, Ukoku had been unable to resist taunting the boy. He was so hopelessly innocent, so deliciously _sweet_ that the more sadistic parts of Ukoku's nature salivated at the mere sight of him. All golden hair and round cheeks, he might just as well have had 'prey' written all over him and that was something Ukoku simply couldn't ignore. As time wore on and he realised just what a handful he's picked up for himself, it occasionally became almost necessary, in order to keep Ukoku from killing the kid.

Eventually, though, time changes everything. The boy grew, and he learned. His reactions to Ukoku's teasing shifted from childish tears and tantrums to more subtle expressions. Ukoku observed, noticed and found his responses to these new forms shifting, as well.

Now, when he chided the boy - hardly one anymore - wide grey eyes would drop, outlining long lashes against pale cheeks stained pink. The lip that no longer trembled would catch instead between teeth, slipping out moist and inviting. Ukoku felt the familiar stirring of desire deep in his belly as he watched these displays of apparent innocence that still called out to the dark things inside him. And so it went, the boy's reactions tugging more teasing from Ukoku, which elicited more of the enticing responses in turn...

Until Ukoku took the boy in his arms, and both of them knew that it had become a draw that set the seal on the perpetuation of the game.

* * *

_**Smokescreen**_

There were things, Hakkai had long ago discovered, that were best left to fulfillment of expectation, rather than reality. After all, living as one's sister's husband tended to emphasise the importance of preconception and its uses in life.

Hakkai's smiles were like that. People saw what they expected to see, and very rarely were the subtle differences between the smiles ever noticed. Even Gojyo missed some of them.

So, because Hakkai was expected to be the mother hen, it seemed natural and logical to everyone that he would complain about some of Gojyo's more obviously annoying habits. He made jokes about the smell of Gojyo's cigarettes clinging to hair and fabric, threats about using inappropriate receptacles to put them out, and jibes about the amount of money Gojyo spent on them.

It was _expected._

What no one expected, and so no one ever saw, was the way Hakkai would stand just a little closer to Gojyo than was necessary as the day wore on. They never saw the way he would sometimes press his face close to Gojyo's shirts before he washed them, or the way his expression tended to fall just a little when he brought them back inside, clean and fresh. Because no one thought of it, they didn't notice that in all his cleaning, Hakkai never washed everything at once, always leaving something to be freshened up on another day. His efficiency took the blame for the fact that Gojyo never ran out of cigarettes at home, his fastidiousness for the fact that the ashtrays never overflowed, and that one was always nearby when Gojyo needed it.

No one ever figured him out, because no one ever expected it.

* * *

_**Clothing Makes**_

Nii stared into his closet, his mouth twisting into a grimace. Pants, shirt, tie, labcoat...slippers. Every day it was the same thing, over and over for what felt like an eternity.

He missed his robes.

Certainly, there was a certain amount of fuss that was involved with the proper presentation of a sanzo priest, but for some reason it had never bothered him the way this inane 'scientist' costuming did. Before the sanzo robes, there had been the robe of an acolyte. Simplicity itself, and complete freedom, that had been. In childhood...well, that was best left just where it was, yeah?

It was a good thing that the look he was attempting to accomplish was 'sleazy', since he was fairly sure that the tie alone would have managed that, anyway. Doctorate at seventeen, youngest sanzo priest in history (until the brat had outdone him, which probably should have rankled more than it did), the brains behind the resurrection...completely baffled by the workings of a necktie. He wondered if Koumyou could have taught him.... Koumyou had taught him about the sanzo robes, after all.

Smirking, Nii stepped into his slippers. Perhaps fashion sense was inherited, but giving a shit about it required a human source.

* * *

_**Transfer**_

Oh, this was fucking _fantastic. _General Kenren slouched against the back of his chair, staring petulantly at the tumbler in his hand. He played with it absently, turning it this way a little, then that way, watching the light play off the golden liquid inside. One day in and already he knew there was going to be trouble.

That Marshal was something else. Kenren snorted quietly. He wasn't sure _what_ the man was, but it was certainly something unique. A mess, for one thing. A fucking crackpot, almost definitely. A fighting man, under all of that - battle was something that stayed in the eyes - and disturbingly _pretty. _Growling, Kenren picked up his drink and slammed it back, then reached immediately to refill it from the bottle on the table. No man had a right to look like that, damn it all.

"Well, good evening, General. Do you mind if I join you?"

The sound of that voice was familiar already, engraved in Kenren's brain, speaking things to him that it had absolutely no fucking right to say. He clenched his jaw as he looked up at Tenpou. Kenren regarded him for a moment, then pushed the chair across from him away from the table with his foot.

"Sure," he replied, regretting it before the word was even out.

He could hear it already, the inevitable order to get his transfer papers ready.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thrusting**_

No, no...you're letting your leg shift too far to the inside. Now watch me." Tenpou emulated the movement, returning smoothly and looking back to his 'student'. "You see how that forces my arms away from my body for balance?"

"Yeah."

"It doesn't look like much, but that's going to leave you wide open."

Pulling his arm in tight, Tenpou held up his sword, turning it to that the blade was edge-on in front of his face. Gojyo marvelled at the way it seemed melt, lightning-quick, to a near-invisible division between Tenpou's eyes. "It's a small thing, a sword; designed for swift death in close quarters." The sound of metal in motion sent a shiver down Gojyo's spine as Tenpou moved; the word _lethal_ was surely meant for that sound. "If you're close enough to kill with this weapon, you're already dead." He fixed Gojyo with a cold stare, his own intimacy with death borne out in his eyes. "You must carve a path to life."

Gojyo swallowed hard, nodding as he regained his stance. He pressed forward, trying to blend his body with the weapon, careful to keep himself aligned, this time. Pulling back, he looked at Tenpou for assessment. Violet eyes (they should have been green) looked back as the kami nodded.

"Much better. Again."

Setting his jaw, Gojyo tried to centre himself, to focus on the task at hand. Hakkai wouldn't have approved, he knew, but that didn't matter anymore.

Tenpou's existence made this necessary.

* * *

_**Virtue**_

"I don't understand what you see in the guy."

"He's a good man. A little rough around the edges, perhaps."

"Rough around the edges, all right, and about as smooth as sandpaper everywhere else."

"Ahahaha."

"Seriously, he's a walking ball of vice."

"I see. Shall I get you a clean ashtray? There's more sake heating, too."

"Ch. Whatever."

"Really, it's not as bad as all that. He's got a big heart."

"Yeah, big enough for anything with a heartbeat."

"He allowed me into his home, without a second thought."

"He would have had to have a _first_ thought, in order to have a second."

"He's been supporting me without complaint."

"You're _proud_ of being kept?"

"It's not like that."

"Hmph. Even if it isn't...he's a hustler. Not exactly the most innocent guy around."

"...said the priest with a gun."

"Ch."

"It's always nice to have a good conversation, isn't it?"

* * *

_**Tease**_

Ukoku watched Koumyou move around the room, the routine familiar, though they didn't frequently share it. He'd been away for what felt like a long time, though in truth it hadn't really been more than usual. Koumyou's long braid swung across his back in the lamplight as he settled things for the night, and Ukoku grinned behind him.

It was much easier than he had imagined.

The little tie that held the end of Koumyou's braid slipped free and into Ukoku's hand; Ukoku's grin widened as Koumyou whipped around, fixing him with a reproving Look.

"Really, Ukoku."

"Hmm?"

Koumyou held out his hand for the tie, which Ukoku held up between his fingers, one eyebrow quirking up in challenge as he took a step back. "That's not terribly mature, you know," Koumyou chided quietly, though the corners of his lips curved upward just a little.

"Feeling your age?" Ukoku returned, waving the tie slightly, a current of laughter under his words.

Koumyou heaved a long-suffering sigh as he stepped toward Ukoku. "Well, _one_ of us should, don't you think?"

Chuckling quietly, Ukoku stepped back again, his smile a blatant invitation. Which Koumyou took, closing the distance between them quickly, practically smirking when the bed caught at the back of Ukoku's legs and the young man fell the short distance to the mattress. Ukoku watched avidly as Koumyou climbed slowly onto the bed, knees on either side of Ukoku's thighs. Leaning over him, Koumyou braced himself on one hand, his hair slipping from his shoulders to fall in long curtains around them.

"Have you achieved your objective, then?" he asked, as Ukoku combed his fingers into soft blond tresses.

"Oh, yes," Ukoku breathed, just before Kouymou covered his mouth with a kiss.

* * *

_**Trust**_

Ukoku Sanzo was a genius. This much was widely known and entirely understood, even if his penchant for reveling in it prickled at those under his influence. He was brilliant and strong, a force in himself and wholly, unfathomably odd.

Ukoku was all these things and more, so much more than anyone had ever seen, save one.

Confident and sure, there still came the nights that disturbed even Ukoku. Those dark times when he knew that he was young and small, and he raged that it should be so. He was a child with abolute weapons and nothing inside, searching for an end that moved with the horizon. Frightened by all that he was, burdened by all that he was not, Ukoku spent the endless, unmeasurable hours between dusk and dawn with eyes wide open but unseeing. Unless...

Unless he could turn, nestling deeper into Koumyou's warm embrace, held tight and safe against the night from within while gentle hands stroked his skin and a familiar, soothing voice carried him with words that would never see the light of day.

* * *

_**Changeling**_

He had been at his erstwhile 'residence' with his pet, when a runner came from the temple with the news. Scrawling something on a piece of parchment, he gave the runner hushed instructions and a few coins, pressed surreptitiously into his palm. He didn't bother to check for supplies or send the boy away before he disappeared, briefly laying his hand on the blond head as he walked out the door.

Ukoku could never tell, afterward, how many days he spent sleeping on the forest floor, how many nights he passed under an overcast sky, without even the company of the moon. No fire, no food, only what water he scooped from the streams and the oppressive silence of the world, forever altered around him. The very air was unbalanced, and he thought he could taste the iron edge of blood when he breathed.

When the clouds cleared, the moon was full. He laughed for a long time when he saw it, the sound pealing through the hushed wood, echoing back to him from somewhere far away.

_All right then, Koumyou. You win this round_.

He walked into the village the next morning before returning to the house where he had left the boy. The kid wisely stood aside, watching with large grey eyes as Ukoku swept through, heading directly for his room. An hour later he emerged, freshly bathed, shaven and clothed head to toe in his sanzo garb.

This time, his robes were black.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **This fanwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by Minekura Kazuya. No copyright infringement is intended or implied, no profit made.

* * *

_**Practical Self-Reliance**_

"You know, I couldn't have designed this uniform better if I'd had you for a model," Tenpou beamed, his hands seeking to remove said uniform with rather single-minded dedication.

Tenpou, Kenren had long since discovered, didn't fish for compliments, so much as find one lurking nearby and bludgeon it repeatedly before dragging it back home to gnaw on at leisure.

* * *

_**Persuasion**_

_"Fuck..."_

Kenren looked up, a wicked little smirk curving the corner of his mouth. He slid his hands up the length of Tenpou's thighs, curling fingers over the loose fabric of his pants and tugging them down over thin hips. Pressed a soft kiss to the valley where hip turned to abdomen, tongue tracing a trail across the smooth expanse of skin. Glancing up again, he let his breath feather over the hard length of Tenpou's cock.

A tiny grin replaced the smirk when Tenpou's hand combed into his hair, gripping tightly and tugging him forward, a demand growled into his name on Tenpou's lips.

"Soon, I promise," Kenren mimicked Tenpou's own statement of a few hours before, and stood up.

Tenpou snarled, giving Kenren a look that was a precise mixture of ire and pout. "_Fine._ Heat the damn bath, then."

* * *

_**The Gift**_

Well, what the fuck was he supposed to do with this, now? Kenren held it up again, twisting it in the light, his brow furrowing as he watched it get no better from any angle. Just who the hell did they expect to _wear_ this thing? There was enough chain attached to efficiently truss a grown man, for the love of...

He spared a moment to reflect on the pleasant images that came with that thought, as well as the immense satisfaction that indulging it would bring him.

_"Isn't it cute?"_

Fuck. There was nothing for it. No one did the kicked-puppy look like Tenpou (something that only Kenren and one other person in all of Tenkai knew he _could_ do, let alone did), and Kenren would inevitably crumble in the face of it; he always did.

"Fucking Tenpou," he grumbled, looping the chain around his shoulders. He fiddled with it for a while longer, trying a few different configurations before he found one that worked, and was comfortable. Grimaced a little when he looked in the mirror, and reached immediately for his duster. Maybe that would help.

It did, oddly enough, though nowhere near as much as Kenren had hoped; the metal skull-thing (he had no idea what it was _supposed_ to be) sat in the middle of his chest, the open edges of his uniform framing it and hiding most of the chain. He sighed heavily and finished getting himself together. Drills in thirty minutes, he still had to get to the grounds, and he was already going to have to add time, in order to make up for the five minutes the men were going to waste laughing at their General.

But Tenpou would smile.

* * *

_**Ties**_

Kenren had never quite figured out why, of all things, Tenpou chose to wear a necktie. No one else in Tenkai ever wore one, and it wasn't as if Tenpou even wore one _properly_, for crying out loud. His tying of the damned things seemed to amount to a kind of absent winding of string around his neck and knotting it so that it hung in a vaguely downward direction. The _only_ explanation was that neckties were of Lower World.

Or so he had thought, until he decided to clear out the little closet in the back corner of Tenpou's office.

Kenren pulled the door open with a creeping sense of dread; if he'd found a bird skeleton among the books, there was no telling what the fuck was going to come tumbling out of this closet.

Nothing happened. Nothing fell, or tumbled, or slid, or shifted or..._anything_ that Kenren had grown to expect of any previously unexplored space owned by the Marshal. Cautiously, he reached inside, pulling the string dangling from the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. There were shelves inside. From floor to ceiling, shelves. On the shelves were many, many different things.

Most of them were from Lower World, all of them looking rather abused, all of them fixed up in a distinctly Tenpou way - with _neckties_. There were dolls with necktie bandages, miniature chairs with spindles and rockers tied on, sheaves of paper with neckties wound around them... There had to be _hundreds_ of them, all neatly placed side-by-side on their shelves, dust thick on them. Except to the right of the door, where there was still a little space, and a few items that hadn't had time to gather much. And one, single tie that sat all by itself, clean. Kenren reached out and picked it up, the only tie in the entire closet that wasn't attached to anything.

Except that it was. Kenren turned it over in his hands, recognising the pattern on the silk, immediately identifying the dark stains that meandered over it. Raised a hand to cover the place on his arm where a youkai blade had bitten, having glanced off his ribs. Kenren folded the material up and placed it back on the shelf.

He'd have to buy a lock...

* * *

_**Never Again**_

_Oh, for the love of...._

"Tenpou!"

After a moment, the Marshal poked his head round the corner of a bookcase, eyebrows raised in inquiry. "Hmm?"

Kenren set his jaw, taking a deep breath before he dared to speak. "There something you'd like to tell me?"

Tenpou's head tilted slightly to the right, his brow creasing as he blinked at Kenren. "...Nothing I can think of just now, no. Why?"

He watched Tenpou for a long moment, eyes narrowing as he studied him. Sighed heavily when it became clear that Tenpou meant what he said, and reached for the paper that sat on the desk in front of him. Kenren pinned Tenpou with a Look as he lifted the corner of the paper...and the blotter underneath came up with it.

"Ah," Tenpou said, offering a sheepish grin, one hand rising to rub at the back of his neck, "I needed to seal that map we found on our last trip down to Lower World to a backing, and your desk was already clear..."

Kenren lowered the paper and its blotter companion back to the desk. "I see."

Tenpou shrugged apologetically (and ask anyone how the fuck that was even _possible_), and as usual, Kenren subsided. Just a little bit.

"Next time you get sealant all over my desk, the next thing it'll seal will be your pants."

Tenpou's mouth quirked up, but he did a creditable enough job of hiding it that Kenren just let it slide. "Understood, sir," he drawled, and Kenren decided that if he was going to have to prevent Tenpou's pants from coming off in the future, he'd best make the most of taking them off him right _now_.


End file.
